


South Park Drabble Bomb

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, M/M, South Park Drabble Bomb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 20:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10670499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of South Park drabbles for Blame Canada's lovely Tumblr prompts.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OneHitWondersAnonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneHitWondersAnonymous/gifts).



Craig prided himself on his ability to mask his emotions. He rarely got ruffled, but, if he did, he knew with absolute certainty that _no one would find out_. He simply would not allow it. After all, he had an image to maintain.

Kenny McCormick shattered that image like an opera singer with a wine glass.

“So,” Kenny asked, taking a long drag of his cigarette and going slightly cross-eyed as he watched the smoke plume from his lips. “You still pretending to date Tweek?”

Craig’s disobedient fucking body tensed up so tightly that his fingers clenched together and snapped the filter from his cigarette. He gave the fragments a disgusted look before tossing them down into the snow, trying to pretend he didn’t see the enormous grin blossoming over Kenny’s face.

“How do you know about that?”

Kenny took another drag, probably rubbing in the fact that _he_ still had a cigarette to smoke because _he_ hadn’t been keeping secrets from the entirety of South Park for years now – other than his superhero alter ego, knowledge of his parents’ criminal records, most of his facial features, his stupid crush on Kyle Broflovski (Craig was pretty sure that wasn’t the reason why he hated Kyle, but he definitely _did_ hate him), and Butters Stotch’s fucking virginity. “You know how some lawyers can, like, smell things like tax evasion?”

Craig looked at him skeptically. “What? No. That’s not a thing lawyers can do.”

Kenny looked unconvinced. “Well, _I_ can smell sexual chemistry.”

“Pheromones?” Craig asked. “Do humans have those?”

“Probably?” Kenny said, sounding uncertain of his answer. “You and Tweek _definitely_ don’t, though.”

Craig scowled at him. “Tweek and I have plenty of sexual chemistry.”

Kenny laughed, shaking his head lightly. “You’ve already admitted I’m right, man. Why are you fuckin’ doin’ this?”

“Oh, Kenny’s dropping his ‘g’s. Shit’s about to get real,” Craig said sarcastically, dodging the question.

“Oh, Craig’s hidin’ his feelin’s behind scorn. Shit’s about the same as it usually is,” Kenny responded automatically.

Craig was annoyed for a second before a huge smile forced its way onto his face. Kenny looked about as surprised by the reaction as Craig felt. He couldn’t exactly help it when he was with Kenny. No one else in the world could understand his level of disdainful apathy (if such a thing were possible) _without_ becoming an equally gigantic asshole except Kenny. Craig had tried to befriend people who were equally cynical, and the only thing he realized was that, as much as he hated the rest of the world, he hated people like himself even more.

No one was like Kenny, and Craig was pretty sure no one could hate Kenny.

“We’re not dating,” Craig said finally. “We started pretending in fourth grade and could never figure out how to stop.”

Kenny sighed and ashed his cigarette with a few quick taps. “You guys are really idiots, y’know that?”

“Oh, like you could do better given the situation.”

Kenny pretended to look thoughtful. “Would I pretend to date someone for four years just to avoid making the town sad? Jesus, Craig. When did you start givin’ a shit about how other people felt?”

“It wasn’t an easy decision! I was ten!”

Kenny shook his head in disbelief. “Do you even especially _like_ Tweek? He’s all like _agh_ , and you’re like _ugh_ , y’know what I’m saying?” He made little hand and facial gestures to complement his impressions, including a fairly good approximation of Tweek’s eye twitch.

Craig hated that he knew perfectly what Kenny was saying.

“Maybe not all of us have a teenage fantasy about falling in love with our best friend,” Craig said after weighing his options. It might have been a bit of a low blow, but Kenny was being kind of a dickhead for pressing the subject at all.

He could always tell when Kenny was gearing up to be angry because it seemed like his brain had to send a message out to his body parts (although Craig supposed, technically speaking, that happened for most, if not all, bodily reactions) that they taking a short breather from being good-natured to a fault. Kenny just watched his cigarette with a confused look on his face for a moment before stubbing it out against the wall. “At least in my fantasy, I’m actually in love, and it’s actually my best friend. And, also, I _am_ a teenager. In reality. You are, too. So, y’know, shove it, dude, and go suck Token’s dick or something.” He dropped the butt of his cigarette like it was a mic, already turning to walk away from Craig.

“Clyde’s my best friend,” Craig called after him, like it mattered. “Not Token.”

It seemed like they had, without consulting one another, made the mutual decision to stop smoking together during and after school. After a few weeks without these breaks he hadn’t even known he looked forward to so deeply, Craig was forced to admit to himself that _Clyde_ probably hadn’t been his best friend either.

Also, Tweek needed to _chill the fuck out_ and just _stop drinking so much fucking coffee._ Jesus Christ, dude.

He didn’t think Kenny would tell anyone what he had figured out, but everything about him and Tweek seemed worthless after their conversation. There just wasn’t a point in going through the motions for something that wasn’t convincing anyone.

Or maybe that’s what Craig told himself because, when he and Tweek walked by Kenny and Kyle in the hall, and Kenny mimicked Tweek’s twitch then mimed doing a line of coke, and Kyle laughed like anyone even fucking wanted him in this school (God _dammit_ , Craig hated Kyle), Craig jerked his hand away from Tweek’s and shoved his hands in the depths of his pockets, where they could be alone and surly and teenaged.

He didn’t do it when they were in front of anyone else.

It didn’t make any fucking sense. Craig didn’t, as a rule, like people. He definitely didn’t like anyone outside of his immediate circle of friends, and those assholes were Just Okay. Kenny was loose (and gave Craig heaps of shit for saying ‘loose’ instead of ‘slutty’), said “y’know” way too often (maybe due to a childhood of no one actually knowing what he was saying), and Craig had a sneaking suspicion he didn’t shower very often. Those were also the only flaws he could find, and he found most of them endearing.

Shit was getting bad when he found a bad smell endearing.

He should have guessed that it wouldn’t take Kenny very long to bounce back from the loss of their tentative friendship, supposing it took him any time at all, but, for being a human-shaped black cat walking under a ladder made of shattered mirrors, Kenny had the best luck of anyone he knew.

Craig sat in the cafeteria with his three friends he didn’t like particularly much, watching Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny’s table out of the corner of his eye. It wasn’t a new pastime, but he would usually just glare in distaste as Kyle said something that got Stan and Kenny in uproarious laughter. This time felt new, though, as he watched Kyle glance at Kenny with that stupid, proud look he got whenever he told a well-received joke that probably wasn’t even that funny to begin with, and Kenny laced his fingers through Kyle’s with an admiring look on his face.

He forced himself to tear his eyes away and tune back into the inane things Clyde was saying about his new relationship with Bebe or Annie or some other girl Craig couldn’t give less of a fuck about. Token was responding with some parallels to his burgeoning relationship with Annie or Bebe or whichever one Clyde wasn’t dating.

He turned his attention to the only other person he knew who never changed, trapped in a loveless relationship that had no real beginning or ending because nothing about the two of them was real.

“You have a new coffee stain on your shirt,” Craig informed Tweek in the same dull, nasally voice that still hadn’t matured since fourth grade. “Right underneath your second misbuttoned button – no, second from the top, not second from the bottom.”


	2. Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *warnings for eating disorders, recreational drug use, and self-medication*

Wendy had always considered herself an optimist. That was before she started dating the most cynical boy in the grade, before she’d been cheated on by the only boy she’d ever really liked, before she watched her friends fear no boys would like them if their tits were too small or think they were fat if their tits were too big. It was before she heard Red sit down next to her best friend and say, simply, “ _well, at least you don’t get your period anymore_ ” after she’d opened up about her eating disorder. It was before she asked Stan for help, and he simply told her that _his_ best friend had been forced to eat an Asian guy’s shit, and _he_ didn’t develop an eating disorder.

She sat at their regular table at the cafeteria, watching with not a small amount of nausea as Bebe pushed food around on her plate, barely listening to Stan chattering to the _actual_ love of his life like Wendy’s best friend wasn’t killing herself in front of them. Bebe lifted her fork to her lips like it was hurting her and closed her eyes before chewing the bite slowly and deliberately, a pained look on her face.

A few seconds later, Bebe excused herself to go to the bathroom, and the nausea hit Wendy with full force. She was about to stand up and uselessly tail Bebe to the girls’ bathroom like she had done a million times before, but, before she could make her move, Kenny McCormick stood up abruptly and left the table without an explanation.

Wendy was torn. She wanted to be there with her friend, even if all she could do was pet her hair while she dry-heaved the food she hadn’t eaten, but she hadn’t been alone with Kenny since she’d found out about Red. Wendy resigned herself to her seat, waiting a few minutes before she’d make her exit.

Stan barely looked up when Wendy swung a leg over the bench to go find Bebe. He _should_ have known what she was doing and offer her some sympathy, but he was too wrapped up in some inane discussion with Kyle.

She walked down the hall, freezing before she turned the corner. There were voices outside the girl’s bathroom. She peered around the corner nervously, taking precautions not to be seen. Bebe was standing next to the door to the girls’ bathroom, looking torn between the need to get through those doors as soon as possible and whatever Kenny was saying to her through his hood.

Wendy’s stomach tightened as Kenny reached up to pull down his hood. He was only supposed to do that for her. When she imagined it, she tried to pretend that he’d have left his hood up when he hooked up with Red. He owed her that much.

“ _You have red spots on your eyelids_ ,” he was saying in a soothing voice. “ _My sister got those._ ”

“ _I’m going to be ugly no matter what I do_ ,” Bebe said despairingly. “ _I don’t know why I even try. It just… it fucking hurts. It feels awful.”_

 _“Believe me, I know what it’s like to be so hungry that your stomach hurts too much to eat_.”

Bebe was quiet for a second. “ _You, too, Kenny?”_

 _“Not by my own volition_ ,” he answered with a soft laugh. “ _I can spend my money on food or booze, and one is more important than the other._ ”

“ _I wish I could still drink.”_

Kenny snorted bitterly. _“Trust me, it’s not that great.”_

_“Why do you do it?”_

_“I can’t sleep. I just, sort of, drink until things don’t suck anymore, then I get out of bed when I sober up. It’s kind of like sleep if you close your eyes.”_

_“I had no idea.”_

Every voice in Wendy’s head was telling her to leave. This was obviously a private conversation, but, well, she wanted to hear what Kenny had to say. She wanted to see if, finally, someone would be able to help.

“ _Bebe, I can’t watch you eat fucking air for lunch anymore. I just… had to talk to you. I hope you don’t mind.”_

_“I, um, this is really nice, actually. I… thank you, Kenny. You don’t have to do this. I know I wasn’t nice to you after what happened with Wendy.”_

She peaked around the hall again, but Kenny was angled so she couldn’t see his facial expression. Bebe had a soft, sad smile on her face, and Kenny was running a finger thoughtfully over the bones under her clavicle that Bebe had called her “xylophone”. It had only started appearing recently, and it scared Wendy. She was glad Kenny knew it was bad, too.

“ _Wendy’s scared_ ,” Kenny said finally. “ _Anyone could tell. If you’re her best friend, then I care about you, too.”_

Bebe looked like she was about to cry, and Wendy ducked back around, pressing her back against the locker as she slid down to the floor, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. None of this made sense. Kenny was a cheater, and Stan was a kind, semi-devoted boyfriend. Stan should be the one worrying about her friends.

“ _I’m not really in a position to help anyone, Bebe, but… if you want, I know something that’ll settle your stomach and get your appetite up.”_

 _“Weed?”_ Bebe guessed shrewdly. “ _You should be a psychiatrist.”_

Kenny laughed. “ _Don’t question my methods. You down?”_

Bebe must have answered silently, because Wendy could hear two sets of footsteps moving down the hall. Wendy stayed on the ground for a few more minutes until her rapid breathing slowed down, and she was able to trudge dejectedly back to the cafeteria table full of people who didn’t give a shit that Bebe was so desperate she’d turn to one of _Kenny’s_ solutions to her problems.

Kenny and Bebe showed up thirty minutes later when lunch was about to end to grab their bags. Kyle gestured for Kenny to come to Math with him, and Kenny shook his head, explaining that he had five dollars and was going to hit the McDonald’s dollar menu for all it was worth. He grabbed Bebe’s wrists from behind and raised them over her head, doing a little dance as he sang, “Yay! Chicken nuggets!” in a horrible approximation of Bebe’s voice. Wendy expected her friend to be horrified, but Bebe just laughed along with him.

Kyle shrugged. “Whatever, dude. Don’t miss History again. You _will_ get detention.”

“God forbid,” Kenny said dramatically, dropping Bebe’s hands. “C’mon, Bebz. Let’s go hit that Drive Thru.”

Bebe gave Wendy a small, apologetic smile as they walked past her to the parking lot. Before they were too far from the table, Bebe turned around and called, “Hey, Wendy. We have an extra dollar if you want to join Team Dollar Menu.”

Kenny gave Bebe an unreadable look, and Bebe shrugged and grinned. Her eyes were pink and watery, but she looked significantly happier than she had in months. She was going to _eat_. If Bebe wanted her there, Wendy would push aside her desire to run and hide whenever Kenny was nearby.

“I’d love to,” Wendy said finally, grabbing her bag and joining the two of them. “How long do you think it’s gonna be until McDonald’s rolls out their Mulan Szechuan Dipping Sauce? This is a PR team’s dream.”

Bebe and Kenny looked at each other for a second then burst out laughing, Kenny nodding in agreement with Wendy’s assessment. Wendy tried to catch Kenny’s eye to mouth ‘ _thank you_ ’, but he seemed to be deliberately looking anywhere but at her.

They ate McDonald’s in Kenny’s shitty ass car. When Bebe stared at her wrapper in horror like she couldn’t believe what she’d just done, Kenny leaned over and whispered something in her ear that seemed to soothe her nerves and acquiesced when Bebe asked him to roll another joint. It wasn’t the solution that Wendy had been hoping for, but at least Bebe had a team of people who cared about her and wanted to help.

Team Dollar Menu.


	3. Growth

“I thought this was going to be awesome stuff like gas chambers. Not a fucking Crate and Barrel catalogue.” Cartman huffed and slammed the textbook shut. “This was a huge bust, you guys. I did a textbook reading for this shit!”

Kyle looked up, still clutching _Taming of the Shrew_ an inch away from his face. He had yet to admit he needed glasses, and it was getting to the point where Cartman was the only one of his friends he could recognize from a distance due to his pure bulk. “You clearly didn’t or you would know what that lampshade meant,” he said in a dull voice before turning back to the play. “It’s not a picture book, Cartman.”

“Why would I do the _readings_ when I have you to summarize it for me, Jew?”

Kyle scoffed, his eyes moving over the same sentence for the fourth or fifth time now. “I’m not helping you with shit.”

Cartman sighed and flipped the textbook open again. “Fine, _Kyle_ , I’ll just stare at these anorexic pussies til I give a shit. What _ever_.”

Taking the bait, Kyle threw his book down, glaring at Cartman across the table. Or maybe he was just narrowing his eyes because he couldn’t see that well. It was a toss up. “They weren’t anorexic, Cartman! If you fucking bothered to do the readings, you’d know they were only fed a bowl of soup and piece of bread a day!”

He received a victorious grin. “And that’s how I get you to summarize it for me!”

Stan groaned, rubbing his temples like hearing this fight for the millionth time was giving him a migraine. “Dude, Kyle, just don’t engage. Come on. You know better.”

“I’ll stop engaging when Cartman stops being an anti-Semitic piece of _shit_.”

“So, never?”

“Never ever,” Cartman said with a smile. “Til death do us part, right, Kyle?”

Kyle stared at him for a second before shaking his head and shoving his book in his bag. “I… I can’t do this right now. I’ll see you guys in class.” He got up from the table and stormed off. Cartman seemed startled by the reaction until Kyle returned a few seconds later, and the smug grin settled back on his face. “For the record, Cartman – those lampshades were made out of _skin_. Jews' skin. That is human _flesh_ , you bigoted asshole.”

Cartman opened his mouth to respond, but Kyle was gone again before he got the chance.

Stan and Kenny gave Cartman wary looks, expecting him to laugh or look for an eBay auction for the lampshades or _something_ , but Cartman’s brows just furrowed together, looking troubled. “Hu… human flesh?” He echoed, peering closer at the textbook.

“Should I follow him?” Stan asked, glancing at Kenny to make it clear that Cartman’s opinion was unwelcome.

Kenny shook his head, mumbling something that got Stan to nod in agreement.

“ _Human flesh_ ,” Cartman whispered again, transfixed by the photo.

“I swear to God, Cartman, if this is giving you business ideas, you’re out. We’re not going to hang out with you anymore,” Stan said. “Not _even_ if you apologize.”

Cartman traced the picture with his finger, still looking upset. When he finally tore his eyes away from the page, he looked angry. “I could make a lampshade out of flesh, and all you’d do is _stop hanging out with me_ , Stanley? That’s fucking horrible.” He grabbed the book and hurried away from the two of them without another word.

Stan made a “what the fuck?” face at Kenny, and he just shrugged again.

***

“So, Kyle, did you read _Man’s Search for Meaning_ last night?”

Kyle closed his locker with a bang. “Don’t even start, Cartman. I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“Dude, relax,” Stan said in the soothing voice that never seemed to ease Kyle’s temper. “We all knew this would happen when we got the World War II unit. We prepared for this, remember?”

“Don’t discount Kyle’s feelings, _Stan_.” Cartman spat out the name like it was an insult. “Suffering is like a gas. It will entirely fill up any vessel it’s in.”

“Fuck _off_ , Car – “ Kyle began before a confused look crossed his face. “You actually did the reading. Why the hell would you do the reading? What are you planning?”

Cartman blinked at him a few times. “I’m not planning anything. I’m just trying to better understand the suffering of your people, Kyle.”

“This is not. Funny.”

“I didn’t say it was.” Cartman smiled, and Kyle searched the look for malicious intent. He didn’t find any. “Then again, the only way to fully understand of the essence of another human being is to love them, right?”

“Congratulations. You did a fucking homework assignment. Is that enough? Will you leave me alone now?”

Even though Kyle stopped talking to Cartman – even going so far as to hide out in the library rather than sit with his friends at lunch, over the next few days it became clear that he would _not_ leave the other boy alone. It started with seemingly innocuous things, willingly offering answers in class. This was phase one, Kyle recognized: suck-up Cartman. Then it moved on to sanctimonious Cartman, who lectured Kenny seriously about how he was wasting his own education by only paying attention to the sexual passage in _The Diary of Anne Frank_. Finally, Kyle could only assume judging by the anonymous notes with quotes from their readings left in his locker, came stalker Cartman.

That was enough to end the silent treatment. On the fifth day of receiving notes, Kyle approached their table in the cafeteria and slammed a crumpled up piece of paper in front of Cartman. “What the fuck is this?” He demanded.

Cartman took one look at it and set it back on the table. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean, Kyle.”

“You have to stop, okay? Look around. No one’s laughing.”

Stan grabbed the note for himself even as Kyle and Cartman both made moves to keep it away from him. “‘Man is capable of changing the world for the better if possible, and of changing himself for the better if necessary’,” he read slowly. “What _is_ this?”

“Cartman’s been leaving this shit in my locker for a week!”

Cartman smiled at him beatifically. “I didn’t see a signature on that note, Kyle. I would _guess_ , though, that whoever’s leaving them isn’t _trying_ to make anyone laugh.” He grabbed his tray and stood up to match Kyle. “It was probably Kenny, anyway. Look at that smirk.” He gestured towards Kenny, who, like usual, had his whole mouth covered by a hood. “Catch ya later, Jew Boy.”

Kyle let out a wordless scream of frustration, sinking into the seat next to Stan, who, misunderstanding Kyle’s anger, said, “I don’t think Kenny can read.”


	4. Mud

My name is Clyde Donovan, and my friend Craig says I have to stop copying him so much. I don’t think I do, but Craig has a big ego and doesn’t spend much time paying attention to other people so I’m pretty sure he thinks he’s some kind of trendsetter. He really is not. I’ve been spending more time with him since Token got a girlfriend who sucks (up all his time); he’s a fucking weird dude. He will genuinely stand up and walk out of a party without saying goodbye to go watch cartoons by himself, and he went through a phase last year where he carried his guinea pig around in a girl’s purse like a Chihuahua.

I don’t think Craig minds so much that Token’s basically ditched us. We’ve had a history of tearing through people whenever we try to expand the friend group, but Token and Craig were always a constant. First we lost Kevin; other friend groups needed a token minority more than we did, and the kid never really understood social context anyway. Jimmy was a bro, but that STD he got from some hooker made him start acting really weird; if I’m being perfectly honest, him going to a hooker in the first place was really weird. Tweek lasted awhile; I’m still not quite sure what happened there – Craig won’t talk about it. Kenny was around for a few days before telling us that we all sucked and returning to his old friend group. Finally, Token tried to bring in Nichole, and Craig and I decided that girls fucked up the friend group. Now Token is gone, and we were clearly right. Girls fuck up everything.

Getting laid is great and everything. He has my complete blessing to pursue as much pussy as he wants. Dating is another matter altogether. I’ve never had a girlfriend, and Craig doesn’t form lasting bonds with other human beings as a rule (even though I still catch him staring at Tweek from across the cafeteria). Token dated Wendy Testaburger for a few months in fourth grade then again in seventh, but she broke up with him because ‘[his] other two girlfriends needed [him] more.’ Bitch.

We did, though. We still do. Token took care of the little things like getting us to do our homework or pointing out when we’d skipped one too many showers. He’s the reason we went outside instead of sitting on Craig’s couch and watching _Red Racer_ , which ended five years ago and is literally too unpopular to find online so Craig bought all the fucking DVDs. They’ve been watched a million times and are too scratched up to play most of the scenes, but Craig’s seen the episodes enough to follow the plot.

Craig leans forward to skip to the next episode without asking me if I want to keep watching, and I clear my throat loudly and obnoxiously. He shoots me a look but doesn’t ask what my problem is so I clear it again. He turns the volume on the TV up.

“Craig, when was the last time we saw sunlight?” I ask, giving up hope that he’ll express an interest in my life.

He jerks his head to the pale sunlight streaming in through the windows. “Right now.”

Token would never have let us have a TV and video games marathon at Craig’s house all weekend. At the very least, we would have gone out to get food, but Craig has decided to embrace the emaciated look and left me to scavenge in his fridge for two days. I bet Nichole eats like a normal human. They’re probably getting food at this very moment.

“That doesn’t count,” I mumble. Technically it does count, and Craig’s always been one for annoying technicalities.

He smiles at me and points to the sunny image on TV. “That count?”

Neither one of us talks for the entirety of the episode although I do keep staring at my phone, not receiving any texts. Sometimes Craig mouths the words along with the characters, and he laughs at all the jokes that I’m sure he’s heard a million times. I actually can’t take it anymore by the time it rolls to credits. We need Token back _immediately_ or we’ll just be two lazy guys watching _Red Racer_ forever.

“Let’s break up Token and Nichole,” I say without thinking.

Craig freezes with his hand on the remote and turns his head to give me a weird look. “What?” He asks. His voice is really a lot more nasally when he speaks in monosyllabic words. I’ve always thought he should sing punk rock, but he disagrees.

“Token and Nichole. We hate them, right?”

He tosses the remote to his side and extends a hand to my knee, a gesture that I know means he’s gearing up to be condescending and sarcastic. “I know you’re sad without Token around to change your diapers, and you’re probably developing some kind of rash, but I can get you ointment. Do you need ointment, Clyde?” He sounds completely genuine. That’s probably the worst part of talking to Craig.

I’ve never been able to talk down to Craig so I settle for grabbing my coat and storming out with a hurt look. He calls “don’t cry on him!” as the door shuts, and I hate that it’s valid advice.

It must have rained while we were locked up in Craig’s house because there are huge puddles along the side of the road. I hop a fence and cut across through a field that squelches underneath my oversized boots. Craig pointed out once how small my feet are, and I’ve adopted the clown shoes method since then. I trip constantly, but it’s better than rude passing remarks, right?

Wrong. I stomp into a particularly muddy area, and my foot comes back up without the shoe attached. I try to balance on one leg and squat to retrieve the shoe, and I tip over, my clean white sock sinking deep into the mud.

I wrestle the boot out of the mud, wincing as it’s freed with a horrible suctioning noise. I look from my sock to the inside of my boot curiously, debating whether it’s better to walk home without a shoe or get the inside of my shoe muddy. A brilliant idea comes to me, and I take the sock off. Good job, Clyde. Really excellent thinking.

I hear slow applause from behind me and turn around to see Nichole and Token balanced on the fence, watching me with clear amusement. Token waves his iPhone in the air for me to see. “Do you want to know what your time was? It took you four minutes and thirty-two seconds to get your shoe out of the mud and back on again.” He grins and slips the phone back into his pocket. “Astounding.”

“It was an especially deep puddle,” I mutter, walking over to the fence. Token nods understandingly, the same smug look on his face.

Nichole smiles at me sympathetically. “Is your foot cold? I have some of those hand heating pads in my bag.”

That sounds ideal, but I’m not accepting Nichole’s charity. Bitch has got to _go_. I shake my head, and she shrugs, adjusting the strap on her shoulder.

“This wouldn’t happen if you’d wear shoes that fit,” Token chastises me. He looks to Nichole. “Do you think Bebe will go out with a Babyfoot?”

Craig made up that name. Token tried to explain that no one would notice my feet were slightly undersized if I didn’t openly stress about it so much, but I think the oversized shoe plan has been panning out pretty well.

I’m focusing too much on my feet to pay attention to what Nichole is saying, but I have the vague idea that they’re talking about Bebe Stevens. She looks back at me expectantly. “So?”

Token snaps his fingers in front of my face a few times, and I blink angrily. “He always gets this face when he’s zoned out and stopped paying attention,” Token explains to Nichole. Nichole doesn’t need to know my faces. “She asked if you want to come on a double date with Bebe Stevens.”

“What? Actually?” Bebe Stevens exclusively hangs out with the hot, smart girls (Wendy, Nichole, Heidi and absolutely no one else), and I think she’s been hooking up with Kenny McCormick since middle school. No matter what, the girl is untouchable.

“Your face just _lit up_ ,” she says fondly. “She says she’s down.”

Token nods encouragingly. “I figured since you’re so weird about thinking you’re a third wheel – “

“What he means is that Token complains about not hanging out with you _constantly_ ,” Nichole interrupts.

He gives her a look and continues, “We can just keep setting you up with a different friend every time you screw up. Nichole has, like, a fair amount of friends.”

“I have _a lot_ of friends, Token,” She snaps in mock annoyance. “So many friends. _All_ the friends.”

Token and I stalk Bebe on Facebook after Nichole leaves, and Token tells me that Nichole thinks I hate her and that _she_ feels like a third wheel when I’m around. I feel triumphant for a second then feel horribly guilty. I hate when people respond to rudeness with kindness. I am not very good at being mean, and this knowledge will inevitably end in a tearful conversation with Nichole where we both give way too many hugs.

Craig deigns to leave his house at around 11:30 pm, anything to avoid the sun ruining his porcelain complexion, I suppose. (I know this because Craig has used that exact phrasing to justify lounging inside all day.) He laughs hysterically when Token tells him about the boot in the puddle and proceeds to call me “Babyfoot” all night, but I’m a lot more willing to accept his shit with Token there to balance the scales.

Token wakes me up urgently at 3 am, and I’m sure the house is on fire or burgled or transported into an alternate dimension. Instead, he whispers that he forgot to offer me a clean sock and apologizes profusely. I’m half-asleep and barely lucid, but I sleep that night with the sock on. My foot’s too warm when I wake up.


	5. Jackets

Heidi finishes pinning the last sign to his jacket before standing back to admire her work. She looks genuinely adorable in her pink pussyhat and white ‘Matriarchy Now!’ t-shirt. Cartman, on the other hand, does not look adorable. The pink signs clash with his jacket, and the slogans are stupid and repetitive. He’s not sure how pussies can grab anything if they don’t have opposable thumbs. Stupid cats.

She clasps her hands together in excitement. “I can’t believe it’s finally happening, babe! I really feel like today is going to make a difference.”

“Uh huh, yeah,” Cartman says without paying attention. He’s been hearing this spiel for days. He’s had visits to his _grandma’s_ where he didn’t have to force as much enthusiasm as he did when they lay on the floor and decorated poster boards all last night. And not the cool grandma either. The shitty one. She’s dead now, but, Christ, she sucked ass when she was alive.

“I’m so happy that South Park is having a march,” Heidi continues. She doesn’t seem to notice or care when he’s being inattentive. Wendy has explained that good people aren’t constantly looking for ulterior motives, and Heidi doesn’t think she has any reason to suspect Eric Cartman of _not_ being a soft-hearted feminist.

Cartman has a lot of respect for women’s intelligence. If they can figure out how to enslave men, they must be pretty smart. Heidi did some emoji thing once that seemed pretty legit. Still, he thinks she’s kind of a dumb shit, and he’s pretty sure the rest of the school agrees. Cartman gives people a reason to suspect him by virtue of being Eric Cartman. He’s working really hard not to fuck things up with Heidi because, frankly, he’s terrified of the cum and joke mines of Mars, and he’s managed to keep her convinced that he’s a new man.

He’s missed a whole chunk of whatever she’s saying, and he tries to pick up the conversation where he left off. “I guess we really just have Wendy to thank, huh? She made this whole thing happen!”

Cartman hides a scowl at her praise. Wendy has been the most openly critical of their relationship. Cartman tells people it’s because she’s jealous, but he doesn’t really believe that. No one really understands what he’s capable of except for Wendy and, to an even greater extent, Kyle. They’ve both been calling him on his shit since they were babies, but Kyle’s tagged out since Cartman got a girlfriend. Cartman also tells people it’s because he’s jealous, and absolutely no one believes that. Cartman has gone through all the horrible things he’s done in his head a few times, and he doesn’t get why _this_ was the thing to push Kyle away, but what-fucking-ever. His life is better off without the Jew in it. If he could only get Wendy out of it, life would be sweet.

“Yeah, you guys really are shitty women,” Cartman says without thinking. Heidi looks hurt, and he replays what he said to see if he’s offended her. He deems it fine; bitch is overreacting.

Heidi gives him a hopeful little smile. “Did you mean ‘nasty women,’ babe?”

“That’s _exactly_ what I meant,” he assures her.

Wendy seems to have done a good job at rallying the support of the town because there’s a large group of adults outside City Hall yelling “rabble, rabble, rabble!” and other shit about people whose lives matter. You know whose life _actually_ matters? His. You know who threatens it? Black people and empowered women. He will quell these uprisings if it’s the last thing he does.

Cartman is a little nervous about so many angry women in one place. He’s already called in a few anonymous bomb threats to make sure the cops take this _very_ seriously, but they recognize his voice now. They also recognize all his fake accents. The police don’t do shit, anyway. They barely even kill black people anymore.

Neither of them have a phone, but Heidi is sure that they’ll be able to find Wendy and Bebe in the crowd. They actually do after they’ve already wasted their _valuable_ time wandering around looking for them. The whole fucking march is basically just wandering around, so his time really wouldn’t have been better spent elsewhere. Wendy and Bebe are both wearing the pink hats, and they don’t notice as Cartman and Heidi arrive, too busy clapping their hands and shouting “hey hey ho ho!” along with the crowd.

Cartman’s heart drops when he sees who they’re with, and he reminds his heart to stop being such a fucking chick. Kyle and Stan must have showed up to support Wendy (or women in general, but that’d be pretty gay), and they look less than impressed, although not surprised, that Cartman’s there. Cartman is still pissed that they let him stop hanging out with them so readily. Stan had clearly been grateful that he was gone. Kyle hung on a little bit longer, due to habit or, possibly, pent-up tension from not screaming at anyone, but he now firmly ignores Cartman whenever possible.

Kyle hasn’t dressed up for the occasion other than a free pin stuck to his coat, and Stan looks absolutely miserable in a pink hat and ‘the future is female’ shirt. That pussy is so fucking whipped. Without warning, Kyle reaches out to hold one of the signs on Cartman’s jacket steady, reading it before dropping his hand and whispering something to Stan. Stan snickers and nods, and they both glance at Heidi, who is busy gushing to Wendy and Bebe.

He’s forced to spend the whole march with these assholes. He wants Heidi to come walk with him so everyone can be super jealous of him, but she explained beforehand that this might be something she wants to share with her girl friends. Stan and Kyle don’t even bother to whisper about him. They make fun of signs and purposefully chant the wrong words until Wendy scolds them, and Stan looks like he’s about to piss his pants. Kyle sneaks a few disappointed looks at Cartman while they walk, and, by pure chance, Cartman is staring back every time he looks at him.

Cartman gets bored and hungry, and he calls in another bomb threat after an hour and a half. He’s smart enough to use his Bane voice box this time, and the police take it seriously. Heidi is in tears by the time they get home, and the South Park Women’s March is on CNN that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Gimme a drabble request I dare ya  
> I'll make her fit the prompt


End file.
